


Tchaikovsky Was Gay, You Know

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Dean's POV, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Operas, Rimming, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, fuckathon, jealous!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been weeks since the angels rained down from the skies, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime.  It’s been weeks since Dean has held his brother in his arms, while Sam vomited blood up, and that familiar uncertainty curled in the pit of his stomach.  Please be all right, he thought about Sam.  Please be all right, he thought about Cas.  <i>Please be all right.</i></p><p>Well, look at them now!  They’re more than all right, aren’t they?  Dean frowns and drinks his beer angrily, his eyes locked on the corner of the room where Cas and Sam are leaning over Sam’s laptop, their foreheads practically touching.  Sam has introduced Cas to iTunes, and Cas, in turn, that nerdy angel, has introduced his equally nerdy brother to Tchaikovsky.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, Cas talks about the old, dead, Russian dude as if he had personally been acquainted with him.  Perhaps he had been, Dean can’t rule that possibility out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tchaikovsky Was Gay, You Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zoi_no_miko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



> Thanks for always holding my hand, babby! <3

It’s been weeks since the angels rained down from the skies, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime. It’s been weeks since Dean has held his brother in his arms, while Sam vomited blood up, and that familiar uncertainty curled in the pit of his stomach. Please be all right, he thought about Sam. Please be all right, he thought about Cas. _Please be all right._

Well, look at them now! They’re more than all right, aren’t they? Dean frowns and drinks his beer angrily, his eyes locked on the corner of the room where Cas and Sam are leaning over Sam’s laptop, their foreheads practically touching. Sam has introduced Cas to iTunes, and Cas, in turn, that nerdy angel, has introduced his equally nerdy brother to Tchaikovsky. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Cas talks about the old, dead, Russian dude as if he had personally been acquainted with him. Perhaps he had been, Dean can’t rule that possibility out.

“If you two ladies are done discussing the finer points of ‘The Queen of Spades,’ dinner is ready,” Dean calls out, trying to keep his voice from showing its irritation, and apparently failing if Sam’s latest bitchface is any indication.

“How did you know it was ‘The Queen of Spades?’” Dean has decided that Cas can be quite an asshole sometimes, since he’s fallen, and all. The former angel sits at the counter and pushes the first plate of food towards Sam, either out of politeness, or because of _the thing_ that Dean has had the displeasure to observe forming between them in the past few weeks.

“I didn’t,” Dean snaps back. “I was guessing.”

“You just randomly guessed the correct Tchaikovsky opera?”

“Shut up and eat your burger, Cas.” He’s certainly not going to admit that he looked it up the other night, after his brother and his best friend had decided that they were allowed to have the kind of fun that didn’t involve him.

“You don’t have to be such a jerk to him,” Sam whispers, towering behind Dean like wildebeest he is, as he gets a beer for himself. “Cas, do you want a beer?”

Fuck you both, I made _burgers_ , Dean thinks, and takes another angry gulp of his own drink.

Cas still does that head tilt thing when he’s contemplating something, in this case, the proffering of beer. Dean still thinks it’s adorable, so, of course, he looks away and focuses on something else. Like the fact that Sammy is all healed up now. And that the world didn’t end. Again. Win for Team Free Will.

“Sure, I like beer,” Cas finally announces after some deliberation. “It gives me blurry feelings.”

“You’re a weirdo,” Dean mumbles under his breath, earning another scathing look from the Moose.

He’s not sure when he first began noticing it, mostly because it’s easier to notice the presence of a thing rather than its absence. And for some time, Dean wasn’t able to put his finger on it, the thing that was missing. Sure, here was Cas, and he was human now, which was... different, but not anything Dean hadn’t seen before. (He shuddered involuntarily at the recollections of his trip to 2014 compliments of Zachariah.) So, yeah, the dude didn’t have his Grace. That wasn’t it though. It was the way he looked at Dean. Or the way he _wasn’t_ looking at Dean, to be exact. Used to bore holes in his face, Dean could swear, with that mile long stare of his, and now... Now when their eyes met, it was as if Cas was looking at a total stranger.

What had done this to him? _Me, myself, I suppose_ , Dean thinks angrily. Maybe Sammy is right. Maybe he had been a giant douchebag once too many times. And maybe human Cas doesn’t have the same capacity for forgiveness as Castiel, Angel of the frickin’ Lord.

“We should go to the Opera together sometime,” Cas says casually, turning towards Sam, his mouth half full of the burger Dean had made for him. “You know, if we’re ever on a job in a real city.”

“That would be awesome,” Sam nods, ignoring the fact that Dean is rolling his eyes so hard, there is a statistically significant chance they are going to actually get stuck inside his head.

“Lame,” Dean whispers into his bottle.

“You can come with us, you know,” Sam turns and smirks at Dean. “You don’t have to pretend to be such a philistine all the time. You’re a Man of Letters now. Or something.”

“I’m not pretending, Sammy. I really am a huge-ass philistine. Plus, I wouldn’t wanna ruin your romantic time with Cas.”

Cas’ eyes fly up from his burger, shooting bewildered looks from one Winchester to the other.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Dean,” Sam concludes, taking a huge bite out of his own burger. “By the way, this is really good.”

“Oh, yes,” Cas looks as if he’s trying to remember the proper protocol for this situation. “Thank you, Dean,” he finally adds, fixing Dean with a brief and depressingly empty stare. After a few minutes, he excuses himself and retreats to his own room, leaving Dean in the kitchen, wondering once again where things went wrong, as he watches the former angel walk away. Sam volunteers to do the dishes.

***

The next day doesn’t begin any less suckily. For one thing, Kevin has discovered their “sex torture dungeon” and flipped out about as predictably as could have been expected. Dean had to promise to teach him how to shoot just to coax him out of his room. When had he become a babysitter for an unhinged prophet, a fallen angel, and a burgeoning Opera fan? Speaking of which, Sam is walking around the bunker loudly humming, oh hell, let’s just call it _singing_ , some aria from the aforementioned Opera. Or he _would_ be singing it if he actually could reproduce the Russian words, so really he’s just spouting all kind of nonsense. How is this Dean’s life?

“Dude, you _know_ Tchaikovsky was gay, right?” Dean asks from behind a large cup of coffee. Not surprisingly, he’s greeted with a classic bitchface. He deserves it, he just doesn’t care.

“What has your problem been the past few weeks, anyways?” Sam doesn’t even have to try to occupy all the space in a room, but somehow Dean feels especially encroached upon.

“Hey, man, I’m just trying to keep our shit together. I’m not the one traipsing around, singing in fake Russian! Maybe I should spray you with holy water, just in case.”

“Who’s speaking in tongues?” Kevin flits by, popping a stray piece of toast into his mouth and taking the rest of the coffee without a single thought as to who else might want some, and who else might end up having to make more. The answer, of course, is Dean.

“Woah there, Speed Racer, you might want to slow down for a goddamn second.” Dean’s attempt to salvage the remains of the coffee is in vain.

“Can’t. Cas promised to teach me to read in Enochian today.”

“So, what? You’re bffs with Cas now too?” Dean can’t help knowing that he failed at not sounding bitter. Cas used to be his best friend, maybe his _only_ friend at times. Now he can’t even get him to spend five minutes in a room with him alone.

“Nah, man. The guy terrifies me. It’s just _Enochian_ , I mean, who the hell else is ever going to volunteer to teach me _that_?” Kevin is beaming and Dean thinks it’s actually kinda nice to see the kid looking so pleased about something. He’s still not done gnawing at himself for the partial guilt of abandoning the trials, and the gnawing only increases each time he looks at Kevin.

And that’s when the day apparently has decided to go from bad to worse. Because that is the precise moment Cas has chosen to waltz out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but low-slung jeans over bare feet, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt (one of Dean’s). Dean had forgotten he had given that to Cas to wear when they had first found him after the, you know, _fall_. Apparently he had also failed to explain to the former angel how to properly wear the aforementioned garment, because what he was currently doing with it was not only wrong, but profoundly unfair.

Cas yawns and stretches, exposing even more pale, taught flesh underneath the unbuttoned and loosely fitting material. Dean had gotten so used to seeing Cas in his flasher-issue trench coat and accountant suit that seeing this much of Cas exposed is blowing his mind about the same amount as had Cas been standing in the middle of the room stark naked. Or so Dean figures. On the plus side, he’s not the only one staring.

Goddammit, that formerly angelic asshole is stupidly hot, and it’s making Dean even more angry. How dare he just look hot like that, in that totally oblivious way, and right in front of everyone too? Sam’s mouth is open. Fuck. Dean is about to throw something.

“Is there any coffee?” The object of Dean’s rage finally speaks.

“Kevin took the last of it,” Sam snickers. “You... uh... going somewhere, Cas?”

Cas darts a look of disapproval in Kevin’s direction which Dean would find kind of adorable if he wasn’t so busy hiding the erection that he is definitely _not having_. Should he make more coffee? Maybe he should make more coffee. But then he’d have to move. 

“No. Why?” Cas looks at Sam questioningly, then at his own stomach, which is apparently making itself known with hunger pangs in the light of day. “This is inconvenient.”

“Yes, Cas, we know eating is a pain in your ass.” Sam gives Cas a friendly pat on the back.

“And dressing...”

“What, Dean?”

“Nothing. What?”

“I didn’t say anything. Do we have food?” Cas’ eyes are big and full of hope. Dean pushes his own toast towards him, his heart doing something uncouth in his own chest. They’re also out of bread now. Someone should probably go shopping. Dean sighs. Someone is obviously going to have to be him again.

Kevin is mumbling to himself, as he heads towards his own den. Sam is humming frickin’ Tchaikovsky again and Dean is watching Cas eat _his_ breakfast with a stupid grin on his face because _neck_ and oh-for-crying-out-loud _nipples_ and really everything is just not in its right place. He needs to do something to rectify this situation, stat.

“So... uh,” Dean clears his throat, as the last piece of toast disappears into Cas’ mouth. Don’t watch him swallow. Stop looking at his neck. “Cas, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” Ah, it’s the innocent puppy-eyed look again. Unbearable.

“In private?”

This, of course, earns Dean an interesting look from Sam. Cas looks over and Dean swears it’s like he’s actually silently asking Sam’s permission, and more rage is inevitable, so Dean just waits for the barely perceptible nod from his annoying younger sibling. When did things deteriorate so badly? Shit.

“Sure,” Cas slides off the bar stool. “Your room or mine?” And now Dean really wishes he could pull his mind out of the gutter because Cas has no idea how that sounds, or how it sounds to _Dean_ anyways. And he really needs to stop staring and say something, so...

“Whatever,” Dean mutters and follows Cas into the angel’s room.

The door closes behind them and Dean is feeling something uncomfortably close to a sense of panic. They’re alone, at last, but this is a delicate situation, and Dean does not excel at delicate situations.

“What did you wish to speak about?” Cas asks, and he’s almost like the old Cas again, a little formal, and standing too close, and Dean has to take a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Well, for one thing,” Dean starts, only to derail himself again by looking at Cas’ exposed hips. Damn, those pants need a belt. He clears his throat again. “Your wardrobe.”

“You do not approve of it?”

“Well, no. That’s not it. It’s just... a little incomplete, is all. And I thought, you know, if you’re going to be a hunter, you should know how to dress like a hunter.” Dean sighs and adds, “ _Properly_.”

“Sam promised to take me shopping for my own clothes when he feels completely recovered,” Cas replies, a look of consternation coloring his handsome features.

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry about that. This, I mean.” Dean is failing at life. “I should’ve taken you myself. I’ll take you. It’s no big deal.”

“I don’t wish to be an even bigger inconvenience to you...”

“Cas, you’re not!”

“Then... what?”

“Look, just...” Dean is now going through Cas’ (almost empty) drawers, but he does manage to find a t-shirt (again, one of Dean’s), and tosses it onto the bed. “Maybe just start by putting that on. Er... underneath.”

Cas is looking at the t-shirt like it’s some kind of a personal affront. Dean doesn’t know how to make this situation better. He doesn’t know how he fucked it up in the first place. All he knows is that he wants Cas’ face to _stop doing that_ so he steps closer and gingerly puts his hands on Cas’ shoulders.

“Here, let me help you.” 

The fuck is he thinking _un_ dressing him! But it’s too late now, and Dean can pretty much smell the slightly fragrant scent of soap on Cas’ skin (at least the whole bathing thing has apparently caught on) as he’s removing the flannel shirt off his back slowly. And then Cas leans in and... sniffs him. Actually sniffs him, like some kind of a (ridiculously sexy) dog.

“Cas?”

“Mmm?”

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry, Dean, am I making you uncomfortable?”

What Dean _wants_ to say is, “You have no frickin’ idea!”

What Dean _actually_ says is, “Not really.” 

Cas’ eyes are so big, like giant blue saucers, like it’s some kind of a cosmic joke that this vessel he is now (permanently?) stuck in just happened to have eyes like that. And hips. And neck. And fuck.

“I can’t sense your soul anymore,” Cas suddenly says, and it’s as if the pieces of the puzzle somehow come into focus and begin to click into place. Dean feels himself exhale, as if he had been holding his breath for weeks. “It’s... it’s strange.”

Dean swallows and his hands are still playing with the flannel shirt which is maybe half-way hanging off of Cas at this point, but, whatever, fuck it, this is more important.

“What do you mean, Cas?”

“Well, it’s like I know that you’re you because you look like yourself. But you’re not really you because I can’t feel you.” Cas pauses as if to collect his own thoughts. “Before, you know, when I had my powers... I could feel you. Everywhere. Even if you weren’t near me, I could feel your soul calling out to me. I could hear your prayers. But now, I look at you, and there’s this shell,” Cas weakly pokes at Dean’s ribs, “and I feel like it’s keeping me from reaching you. The _real_ you. And I thought... I know you probably think this is stupid... But I thought, if you smelled like the real Dean...” He stops speaking and Dean could swear that his eyes are glistening, with actual fucking moisture. He is about to make Cas cry. No. This is unacceptable.

Dean’s hands reach for Cas’ face and gently cup his jaw. The bathing thing has caught on; the shaving thing, still not so much.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, afraid to raise his voice, to spook his best friend, to say the wrong fucking thing like he’s so prone to doing. “I’m still me. I’m still here. Please. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you, Dean. It’s just...” Cas swallows. “It’s not enough.” He shakes his head, but Dean is still cradling his face in the palms of his hands. “I can’t feel you.”

“Can you feel this?” Dean pulls Cas’ face closer and, before he chickens out, he gently presses his lips against the fallen angel’s own lips. They’re still chapped and cool against Dean’s touch. Dean is frozen because he doesn’t want Cas to pull away, and Cas doesn’t, so Dean presses their bodies closer together and opens his mouth against his best friends lips, beginning to nibble and probe, asking for an uncertain permission.

Suddenly, the body in Dean’s arms comes alive, and Cas has his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck, fingers gently massaging the back of Dean’s scalp, lips softening and opening up for Dean, letting him in. Dean can hear their hearts beating in unison and it’s totally crazy but utterly exhilarating at the same time.

“That feels nice,” Cas finally says, pulling back, a bit out of breath, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the kiss. “I need more.” Cas looks so serious as he says this, Dean thinks he can probably kiss his entire face for hours just for that alone. “Please, Dean. I need to feel you.”

“Baby...” Dean breathes out, and before he knows what he’s doing, they’re tumbling into Cas’ bed, any thoughts of proper wardrobe etiquette long forgotten. “My beautiful baby angel.” Dean can’t believe he’s saying the shit that is coming out of his mouth and then his hands are on those sharp, jutting bones of Cas’ hips, and suddenly Dean is rather glad that the jeans Cas is wearing are just a little too big because it’s so easy to slide them off. 

“Dean,” Cas’ eyes are so close, but suddenly so sad, and Dean could kick himself again for whatever dumb thing it is he must have just done. “I’m not...” 

Dean’s kissing him right on the eyelids, his nose, the dimple of his chin. “You are. You’ll always be my angel, Cas. No matter what.” Cas isn’t looking entirely convinced, but Dean is determined to make this work, whatever _this_ is. He’s not entirely sure, truth be told, and he’s really trying hard to seem more experienced under the circumstances than he feels. But Cas smells so good, _feels_ so good in his embrace, Dean doesn’t give a shit about the mechanics. He has a cock; Cas has a cock; they will figure this out. How hard can it be? Dean snickers to himself at his own question. The answer is apparently _very_.

Now Cas has been completely stripped of his clothes (Dean’s clothes), and he’s writhing against Dean like some kind a Siamese cat in heat. (Those are the ones with the blue eyes, right? Dean makes a mental note to look that up later. Because Cas likes cats. Doesn’t he?) He’s maybe a little bit in love with the dude.

“Dean...”

The sound of that voice has never done good things to Dean’s psyche. Deans moans desperately into Cas’ neck. It is a magnificent neck and Dean could lick and bite and mark it for decades, but he has more pressing matters at hand right now, namely the throbbing erection trapped inside his own jeans. Luckily, Cas must be thinking more clearly, because he’s diligently trying to level the playing field by extracting Dean’s cock out of their confines.

“It’s me, baby. Please...” Dean is begging. This is unprecedented, as far as “in the sack” is concerned. “Please, I need you to know me again. I need you to feel me.”

“I’ve felt so lost without you,” Cas whispers, and it’s really all Dean can do not to jizz all over both of them right then and there. 

“I’m so sorry, Cas. Please. Let me make you feel good.”

His bravado is apparently paying off because Cas is letting him touch him, letting him _do things_ to him, things that Dean has only maybe vaguely contemplated before, not that he’d admit it if you asked him. He boldly takes both of their cocks in hand, and begins the slow, leisurely stroke along their lengths. Cas bucks up against him, into his fist, up against his cock, his body is strumming. Cas bites down onto the sinews between Dean’s neck and shoulder, muffling his own cries, while Dean roars. It is retarded how good this feels, how heady and utterly intoxicating Cas’ smell is right now. Fuck! Dean should have just done this long ago. Idiot, idiot, _idiot_ , oh God!

Dean is coming. He thinks they both are, but at the moment the only thing he’s certain about is that he’s spilling his seed all over Cas’ cock and his own hand, and both their stomachs, and everything is suddenly very squishy and warm. And _fuck_ Cas, his beautiful Cas, and Dean thinks he’s probably going to pass the fuck out. And then he sort of does.

***

He wakes up to an eyeful of Cas, hovering over him, with the same look of perpetual worry as the Cas of old.

“I thought I might have broken you,” his beloved announces, and hell, when did he start thinking of Cas as his _beloved_? Jesus, Dean is whipped. He idly wonders what the male equivalent of that would be. Cock-whipped? He grins up at Cas, wondering how dumb he must look, and runs his hand through his angel’s hair. That hair has always been to die for.

“No, I’m good,” Dean finally mumbles, probably sounding about as dumb as he thinks he looks. “Better than good. I’m fucking awesome.” Now Cas is smiling down at him and Dean can practically hear him thinking, “Dean Winchester, you giant dummy.”

“I seem to have recovered faster than you,” Cas announces, pressing up against Dean to make his point abundantly clear. If Dean had any doubts about what Cas had been referring to, those doubts are gone.

“Jesus, Cas! What are you, like an eighteen-year-old angel?” Dean looks down at his own naked thigh, which has Castiel’s cock resting in full glory of a new erection upon it. 

“I don’t understand that...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Dean interrupts. “How are you feeling? Other than, you know,” Dean runs his thumb along Cas’ new boner, earning a gasp in return, “Really horny.”

“I enjoyed that very much,” Cas says, his eyes all serious again, like he’s about to start reciting some kind of nerdy scientific theorems, not engaging in pillow talk. “At times it felt like too much, but most of the time not enough.”

“Not enough?” Now Dean is definitely profoundly depressed.

“I wish there was some way to feel even closer to you. This... this is wonderful, Dean.” It’s like Cas can see the profound depression, Dean thinks. “ _You_ are wonderful. I’m just used to... uh... processing you... differently.” The head tilt is back and so is Dean’s broken heart.

“Baby, I’d do anything to make you feel right again. I promise one day we’ll get your Grace back and then...”

“No, Dean. I have to learn to be human. To be like you.”

“But, Cas...” Dean doesn’t actually know what he’s going to say, so that when he does say it, he’s totally pissed at himself for being such a chick. “I want you to love me like you did before.” Holy fuck, he has a vagina.

“Oh, Dean...”

What the fuck. What the actual fuck??!! Dean is too busy freaking out over what he had just said, and Cas is kissing him to distraction, and it’s just _not_ OK, except that it is, it makes everything a million times better.

“We can be, you know,” Dean gasps as Cas’ body slides wantonly up against his. “We can be closer. If you want.”

“How?” Cas cannot possibly be that obtuse, can he? He’s nibbling at Dean’s lower jaw, his neck, licking along his collar bones.

“You know,” Dean says, and he spreads his legs wide, so that his angel can settle in comfortably in between them. “C’mon, Cas, don’t make me draw you a diagram.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Oh, what the hell, Cas’ cock is already bouncing up and down, deliciously rubbing itself against Dean’s balls. Dean can’t believe he’s lying, thighs akimbo, offering his (totally virgin) hole to his best friend, who incidentally just so happens to have been an Angel of the Frickin’ Lord up until a few weeks ago.

“Dean... I... I want to.”

“Then go for it, cowboy.”

Between the chick flick dialogue coming out of his mouth and the fact that he just offered his ass up to a dude, Dean is not really sure what he should be concerned with more. Probably the fact that he’s totally in love with his best friend. Yeah, but who’s keeping track of the day’s developments? 

“You need to prep me,” Dean says and then Cas, that fucker, actually laughs at him. That is just seven different flavors of uncool.

“Dean, I understand the mechanics of human anal sex perfectly,” Cas assures the hunter, who is not feeling at all reassured.

“Dude, don’t say ‘anal sex.’”

“My apologies. What am I supposed to call it?”

“Just... don’t call it anything. Just... you know. Do stuff.” 

Cas is ducking into the bathroom, returning with something that is definitely not lube, but Dean supposes will have to do in a pinch. It’s not like he’s about to saunter out nakedly into the middle of the bunker and go looking for his own lube. Oh, maybe Sammy would have some? Ha. Dean is amusing himself. He’s oh-so-very-funny. Oh shit, Cas’ finger is circling his asshole.

“Cas!”

“Shhh.” He can feel Cas’ lips pressed against the sinews of his neck, mouth again dipping lower, kisses interspersed with bites covering his chest, finding his nipples, teeth pulling, arousing him to distraction. He almost doesn’t notice the finger sliding inside. Almost.

“Fuck, Cas... that’s....”

Another finger joins the first. And maybe Cas wasn’t lying when he proclaimed his proficiency at this because Dean suddenly feels the need to buck up off the bed as Cas finds something inside him and gently nudges it.

“Holy fuck!”

“In a manner of speaking,” Cas grins. What an infuriatingly beautiful bastard!

Cas is taking his time preparing Dean, while his mouth continues his distraction tactics. Dean had no idea his nipples were so sensitive until they’ve been exposed to Castiel’s tongue (surprisingly pointy) and teeth (unnervingly gentle). And then that wonderfully talented mouth is sliding against the underside of Dean’s cock and Dean realizes that he’s almost painfully hard again.

“Fuck!” Dean arches off the bed, but Cas’ hands press down along his hips. “I’m ready, get on with it!” And now Dean _has_ seen everything, because he’s witnessing himself begging another dude to bone him. And he’s loving every second of it.

Then Cas is kissing him again, and Dean supposes he’s kissing him hard enough to actually try and taste his soul through his mouth. If only he could. And then he feels the first push, followed by the slide of Cas’ length into him, and then he opens his eyes and he can feel Cas bottom out inside him, and the look on his angel’s face is more than he can bear.

“Move!” Dean commands, as his legs come down and wrap tightly around Cas’ narrow hips.

Cas moves. Slowly at first, but little by little Dean can feel a hurricane building up inside him, and he pushes his hips against the onslaught of Cas’ cock as it pounds him, meeting him, thrust for thrust, and it feels almost like Cas is going to split him in half, and it’s _fucking awesome_.

“Oh, shit, don’t stop... don’t stop!”

Cas is shaking his head, like “fuck, no, not gonna stop,” and Dean is actually laughing because it’s retarded how hot this is, and how right Cas feels inside him, and he’s beginning to pull at his own cock, but Cas has his own ideas about this, so he slaps Dean’s hand away and replaces it with his own. Fucking amazing angel! 

“Dean!”

That’s all it takes, because Dean knows that Cas is shooting his load inside him and he squeezes his thighs and his rectum tighter around Cas, milking him, and then he’s spilling again, all over Cas’ fist, and if he thought his first orgasm was good, then this just blew “good” way the hell out of the water and he’s screaming Cas’ name so loudly he thinks he’s probably going to be hoarse by the end of the day. And his arms are full of the goddamn sexiest angel in the entire garrison, fallen or not, Dean doesn’t give a shit, and he thinks, “This is Heaven,” and he passes the fuck out again.

***

When Dean comes to again, he’s on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, and he can feel Cas pressed against his back, arms stroking down his sweat-covered sides. He has no idea how long he’s been out, but he can’t bring himself to care. He makes a small noise, it is almost a purr, a brief announcement of his own consciousness. 

“Mmmmm, Casssssss....”

Dean can feel lips trailing little licks and kisses along his spine.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is gravelly and even more sex-infused than usual. “You’re amazing.”

“Shut up, you are,” Dean mutters into the pillow. Cas’ hands are kneading at the globes of his ass. Jesus Christ, but the dude totally does have the refractory period of an eighteen-year-old! Dean wonders whether this has something to do with the fact that technically Cas is a “new” human. He doesn’t have much time to ponder the mechanics of his lover’s wondercock because nothing in all his years has prepared him for the feel of Cas running the length of his (delightfully pointy) tongue along his crack.

“What the...” Dean gasps. Cas’ hands are keeping him spread wide open. He feels another long lick, up along his perineum, and then a short stab of Cas’ tongue into his hole, as if he’s scooping something back inside him. Jesus Fucking Christ, Dean realizes what it is.

“Dean,” Cas’ breath is hot against Dean’s skin. “You look so amazing with my seed dripping out of you like this.”

And no. Nuh-uh. No one should be allowed to say shit like that, especially not frickin’ recovering angels like Castiel!

“Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean burrows his head deeper into the pillow because as much as his face must be five different shades of crimson at the moment, he cannot deny that he’s getting hard again.

Cas merely grunts his approval at this exclamation, and goes back to working his magnificent tongue against Dean’s hole, interspersing long licks with shorter ones, gently probing at times, then sucking at the overly sensitized flesh, until Dean feels like he is about to come completely undone under his ministrations.

“Cas! Oh God! Please...”

Cas bites gently at Dean’s red, puckering hole, sending another jolt right up Dean’s spine.

“Please?”

“Oh fuck. Yes. Cas... I....” He has no idea what he’s about to say again, except he doesn’t want it to stop (except to stop to be replaced by Cas’ glorious cock again of course). “I need you. Oh _God_ , I need you!”

Cas’ tongue is inside him. He can actually feel it, and press of his hot lips around the opening, and this is by the far the wrongest, hottest thing that’s ever happened to Dean, the last few hours of his life included. Cas’ hand is playing with Dean’s balls, gently squeezing, rolling them between his deft and beautiful fingers as he eats Dean’s hole out like some kind of a fucking pornstar. Speaking of stars, Dean is seeing them. He doesn’t think he can deal with this amount pleasure and kinkiness all at once.

“Gonna just have to fill you up again,” Cas says and, at that, Dean just thrusts his ass out towards his angel’s face, begging him wordlessly to make good on that promise.

“Fuck, Cas!”

Apparently, this is where their interests coincide, because Dean is becoming filled up again. He’s still slick from the remnants of Cas’ jizz and saliva, and stretched out from before, and he feels amazingly dirty yet satisfied from this knowledge as his angel slides back inside him with one sure stroke.

Cas’ mouth is pressed right behind his ear, his breath coming hot and fast against the back of his neck, sending small shivers of desire circling into Dean’s core as he’s being owned and claimed again. It’s so good. So, so good. Dean is moaning it out, not even aware of what the hell he’s saying except that it’s a world of praise and every word of it is God’s truth and the fucking Gospel. Cas is amazing, life-wreckingly so, and Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to shut his legs or walk properly for a week, and he gives exactly zero fucks about that because this is the best sex he’s ever had with anyone (himself included, and hey, he’s pretty good).

“I love you too, Dean,” he hears breathed against his ear, and it’s the most intense thing he’s ever heard, because he’s coming again, the shocks of his own orgasm pulling Cas’ out of him, and they’re both screaming now, guttural cries torn out of both their throats. (Did he lock the fucking door? He hopes he locked the fucking door!) And he’s not going to pass out this time, he’s not, he’s going to ride it out, and he’s going to turn around, and he’s going to pull Cas into his embrace and...

“I love you, my beautiful angel.”

“Dean...”

It is now Cas’ turn to black out, it would appear. Dean is smirking the self-satisfied smirk of a man well-fucked. He’s holding Cas in his arms, and they’re both sweaty, and their hair is a damn mess (especially Cas’), and Dean has never felt so right about anything in the world.

“All I ever wanted was for you to stay with me,” Dean whispers into his lover’s ear. “I just never wanted it to be like this. Because you were forced to stay.” Dean presses a kiss to Cas’ temple, and waits for him to awaken.

When those blue eyes finally open and fix on Dean, he can feel his heart melting again.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean knows that everything is going to be all right now.


End file.
